“And those who allow grief to run its full course are those for whom it can be said, “oh, you look at her … and you know.”
I want to be one of those.”
That part right there gave me the chills. Thank you for this article, it allowed me the chance to rewire my perspective during a season of “no’s” and “not yet”.
Beautiful share. Been wrestling with grief in this season with the recent passing of my father and I appreciate your courage to delve into the murky places where sorrow and faith meet.
That was profound to read, Sara. It brought back the memory of so many years of my early years as a Christian (24 years old)...mentally ill, grief stricken over the suicides of my brother and father, and "testifying," that the Lord "had" healed me, as a way to lay claim to a healing that hadn't come yet. Circumventing my grief. It has been in the last decade of my life (I'm 72), that I've realized that total healing will take a life time, and that there was so much of bypassing going on in my early years.
Oh Linda: what a road you've walked. And look at this wisdom in your words ... I'm in tears reading them, so relating to the youthful "the Lord *had* healed me" testimonies.
So well written. I love the angle you wrote from, I feel it shines a light on the fact that sometimes feeling grief can be shameful, and try so hard to "get over it" quickly. When really, it's a story we shouldn't be hiding. It's God’s story. Anyway, thank you for sharing your beautiful words!
Yes, yes. Why do we feel shame with grief? I’m feeling grief over some big things, and some pretty small things (in the big scheme)… the small things are seemingly the most disorienting – maybe because of the shame?
It is definitely thought provoking (how you find the smaller things most disorienting). But I think I could relate if I think about it. I remember grieving the loss of a job a few years ago, and feeling like people wouldn't understand nor see it as something to grieve. But to me it had such an impact on me. But it wasn't the loss of a loved one or anything, so it felt disorienting as you mentioned. I dunno, these are just my initial thoughts to your comment. It is an interesting topic though. We're supposed to get over things quickly, at least that's how it feels. Maybe I'm going off on a tangent now though, haha.
"we're supposed to get over things quickly" ... yes I have so felt that with situations like the one you describe related to your job. We receive that message so often in our culture (and in our heads) and yet is this the way of God?
For context, my family has been walking through a nasty situation with our pastor.
My husband, along with half of the elders on church Council, feel strongly that our pastor is spiritually abusive, manipulative, deceitful and has treated staff and members poorly. These Council members (& many church members) have been working steadily since July to bring this to his attention, which has been met primarily with defensiveness, personal attacks, gossip and slander against our families. We’ve lost almost half of our staff and 1/3 of our congregation. My husband and the other members have devoted hours and hours to this each week between meetings, phone calls, letters, etc.
I have felt a lot of things, but I have not really grieved it properly.
And then, yesterday, my sons lost an important soccer game in the state championship playoffs. Totally not a big deal in the big scheme of things, right? But it was also my senior’s last soccer game ever, and the last time he will play on the field with his younger brother. It’s the passing of time.
As I grieved that, and felt someone ashamed about it, I realized that this was the outlet God was providing for me to usher in full-scale grief about the church and our pastor, and the way it has affected each member of my family - and so many friends.
God is near to the broken-hearted. I felt Him reminding me on a walk tonight that he does not shame me for my grief. Your words and the comments here were a useful tool. ♥️
Thanks. I was hoping you would speak into this season of local grief, and you have done it in a way that ministers to both the local and the far-flung.
Your words are such a beautiful invitation into the heart of God- thank you for sharing. I am reminded of the song lyrics by Avalon (2006, aging myself!)- Where Joy and Sorrow Meet... "there's a place of quiet stillness âtween the light and shadows reach, Broken hearts find love redeeming where joy and sorrow meet" Still learning to engage in the beautiful angst of 'where joy and sorrow meet'. Thanks again for ministering to my heart.
Thank you for writing this. There are so many brilliant parts to this piece. I really appreciate how you highlight how often both in society and the Christian world, we try to circumvent others and our own grief--making our heartbreak our “testimony” before we’ve really walked through grief or having people tell us Christian platitudes about our grief to help us “stay positive” or trust God’s plan without really allowing ourselves or others to sit in our grief and bring our pain and questions to God.
We so often don’t let ourselves and others wrestle with God in our grief. It has been freeing this year to be the one to give myself permission to grieve, to bring the pain and questions to God. Grief isn’t something you get over, it’s something you learn to live with and walk through--it changes but it stays with you and it’s a beautiful thing to see how our grief and our scars make us if we allow them with God to make us more of who God created us to be--filled with more empathy and compassion and resilience and strength.
Sara, you have no idea how much I needed to hear this message. It has been sitting in my inbox and I finally read it this morning (not an accident). After the birth of my daughter, I was able to admit I was sexually abused as a very young girl (3-6). I have spent the last 6 years grieving and working through healing with an EMDR therapist. This past Sunday the sermon in church talked about how the devil can't do anything without God's permission. I've struggled with this in light of what I went through. I found myself in the bathroom sobbing for that little girl and feeling like I'm taking "too long" to heal. Desiring to be the one that you "look at and would never know". Feeling like that would be a better testament to God. But even though I don't understand it, I believe the Bible when it says He is good. I don't know why I was allowed to suffer in the way I did, but I know I'm only standing here today because of God's grace and provision. So maybe the next time tears silently fall down my cheeks in a church full of hearty "Amens", I don't need to be so embarrassed by the grief. Maybe I can say a wobbly "Amen" and that is enough because it's all I have to give (Mark 12:38-44). Maybe it's okay if others look at me and know.
Oh Erin. I am so sorry for this profound loss of your childhood. I have a friend who has walked a similar road so I am somewhat familiar with the profound grief over decades for a loss like this. Pausing to pray God meets you as you grieve. And yes, yes, tears are powerful … there is no shame in your grief.
Thank you so much for writing this...all of it. I miscarried our much prayed for third baby at the end of March, and some days I am still sitting in the grief. It feels sometimes like God and I are the only ones who remember this little life, but in that Jesus and his compassion are so near.
This was such a good read for me. The last few years have been filled with grief - not constantly, consistently - and some of that grief opened wounds I’m not even sure I had. Thankfully, God is slowly turning those wounds - some deep - into scars that have or are healing. I hope that’s evident in my life.
You’re so spot on and eloquent with the way you phrase the analogies about grief; the fresh snow and the crashing wave that reveal the quiet and dormant substance and truth of life sitting at the center of the noise we are usually distracted by. Somehow, those are the moments of quiet clarify that almost make me miss sitting in grief - because it was at the center of it that life suddenly became so simple, meaningful and mystical. It was there that the nearness of God was most profound to me, and as days and years tick on, I try to always return mentally and emotionally to that space to remember how to center myself and return to the heart of God.
Last night was my first night of starting a new widows group at my church. I’m glad I read this after the meeting, giving me confirmation on many of the points we discussed on grief. Grief forever changes us. And, hmm, I think we can know and not know at the same time when we look at someone. You see their journey and brokenness and you also see the light shining through all those cracks.
Thank you, as tears of grief flow. My husband died about a month ago after a long cancer journey. Often there are no words to grief. It just comes and goes. I liked the metaphor of the crashing wave.
"Grief can feel like stagnancy to the heart ever-oriented toward upward growth." Stagnant. This is how I've felt, what I've been afraid of, and the new year for sure has looked like an opportunity to escape the stalled feeling. Connecting that feeling to Grief is an eye opening thought. I think this is helping me identify what's behind the pressure and anxiety I've been feeling about starting out this new year on good footing.
“And those who allow grief to run its full course are those for whom it can be said, “oh, you look at her … and you know.”
I want to be one of those.”
That part right there gave me the chills. Thank you for this article, it allowed me the chance to rewire my perspective during a season of “no’s” and “not yet”.
That part gave me chills too!
Beautiful share. Been wrestling with grief in this season with the recent passing of my father and I appreciate your courage to delve into the murky places where sorrow and faith meet.
I'm so sorry you've lost your dad. It's deeply disorienting to lose a parent and then navigate the world, without them.
That was profound to read, Sara. It brought back the memory of so many years of my early years as a Christian (24 years old)...mentally ill, grief stricken over the suicides of my brother and father, and "testifying," that the Lord "had" healed me, as a way to lay claim to a healing that hadn't come yet. Circumventing my grief. It has been in the last decade of my life (I'm 72), that I've realized that total healing will take a life time, and that there was so much of bypassing going on in my early years.
Oh Linda: what a road you've walked. And look at this wisdom in your words ... I'm in tears reading them, so relating to the youthful "the Lord *had* healed me" testimonies.
So well written. I love the angle you wrote from, I feel it shines a light on the fact that sometimes feeling grief can be shameful, and try so hard to "get over it" quickly. When really, it's a story we shouldn't be hiding. It's God’s story. Anyway, thank you for sharing your beautiful words!
Yes, yes. Why do we feel shame with grief? I’m feeling grief over some big things, and some pretty small things (in the big scheme)… the small things are seemingly the most disorienting – maybe because of the shame?
It is definitely thought provoking (how you find the smaller things most disorienting). But I think I could relate if I think about it. I remember grieving the loss of a job a few years ago, and feeling like people wouldn't understand nor see it as something to grieve. But to me it had such an impact on me. But it wasn't the loss of a loved one or anything, so it felt disorienting as you mentioned. I dunno, these are just my initial thoughts to your comment. It is an interesting topic though. We're supposed to get over things quickly, at least that's how it feels. Maybe I'm going off on a tangent now though, haha.
"we're supposed to get over things quickly" ... yes I have so felt that with situations like the one you describe related to your job. We receive that message so often in our culture (and in our heads) and yet is this the way of God?
For context, my family has been walking through a nasty situation with our pastor.
My husband, along with half of the elders on church Council, feel strongly that our pastor is spiritually abusive, manipulative, deceitful and has treated staff and members poorly. These Council members (& many church members) have been working steadily since July to bring this to his attention, which has been met primarily with defensiveness, personal attacks, gossip and slander against our families. We’ve lost almost half of our staff and 1/3 of our congregation. My husband and the other members have devoted hours and hours to this each week between meetings, phone calls, letters, etc.
I have felt a lot of things, but I have not really grieved it properly.
And then, yesterday, my sons lost an important soccer game in the state championship playoffs. Totally not a big deal in the big scheme of things, right? But it was also my senior’s last soccer game ever, and the last time he will play on the field with his younger brother. It’s the passing of time.
As I grieved that, and felt someone ashamed about it, I realized that this was the outlet God was providing for me to usher in full-scale grief about the church and our pastor, and the way it has affected each member of my family - and so many friends.
God is near to the broken-hearted. I felt Him reminding me on a walk tonight that he does not shame me for my grief. Your words and the comments here were a useful tool. ♥️
Thanks. I was hoping you would speak into this season of local grief, and you have done it in a way that ministers to both the local and the far-flung.
Such a deep grief, here, isn't it? 😔
Your words are such a beautiful invitation into the heart of God- thank you for sharing. I am reminded of the song lyrics by Avalon (2006, aging myself!)- Where Joy and Sorrow Meet... "there's a place of quiet stillness âtween the light and shadows reach, Broken hearts find love redeeming where joy and sorrow meet" Still learning to engage in the beautiful angst of 'where joy and sorrow meet'. Thanks again for ministering to my heart.
Thank you for writing this. There are so many brilliant parts to this piece. I really appreciate how you highlight how often both in society and the Christian world, we try to circumvent others and our own grief--making our heartbreak our “testimony” before we’ve really walked through grief or having people tell us Christian platitudes about our grief to help us “stay positive” or trust God’s plan without really allowing ourselves or others to sit in our grief and bring our pain and questions to God.
We so often don’t let ourselves and others wrestle with God in our grief. It has been freeing this year to be the one to give myself permission to grieve, to bring the pain and questions to God. Grief isn’t something you get over, it’s something you learn to live with and walk through--it changes but it stays with you and it’s a beautiful thing to see how our grief and our scars make us if we allow them with God to make us more of who God created us to be--filled with more empathy and compassion and resilience and strength.
And those who allow grief to run its full course are those for whom it can be said, “oh, you look at her … and you know.”
- this reminds me of James 1….. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
I want to be mature and complete but I don’t always like how we get there! But you are right the only way out is Through!
Sara, you have no idea how much I needed to hear this message. It has been sitting in my inbox and I finally read it this morning (not an accident). After the birth of my daughter, I was able to admit I was sexually abused as a very young girl (3-6). I have spent the last 6 years grieving and working through healing with an EMDR therapist. This past Sunday the sermon in church talked about how the devil can't do anything without God's permission. I've struggled with this in light of what I went through. I found myself in the bathroom sobbing for that little girl and feeling like I'm taking "too long" to heal. Desiring to be the one that you "look at and would never know". Feeling like that would be a better testament to God. But even though I don't understand it, I believe the Bible when it says He is good. I don't know why I was allowed to suffer in the way I did, but I know I'm only standing here today because of God's grace and provision. So maybe the next time tears silently fall down my cheeks in a church full of hearty "Amens", I don't need to be so embarrassed by the grief. Maybe I can say a wobbly "Amen" and that is enough because it's all I have to give (Mark 12:38-44). Maybe it's okay if others look at me and know.
WOW. You are a sign and wonder. Bless you. Hang in there.
Oh Erin. I am so sorry for this profound loss of your childhood. I have a friend who has walked a similar road so I am somewhat familiar with the profound grief over decades for a loss like this. Pausing to pray God meets you as you grieve. And yes, yes, tears are powerful … there is no shame in your grief.
Thank you so much for writing this...all of it. I miscarried our much prayed for third baby at the end of March, and some days I am still sitting in the grief. It feels sometimes like God and I are the only ones who remember this little life, but in that Jesus and his compassion are so near.
Sarah, I am so sorry for your loss 💔
This was such a good read for me. The last few years have been filled with grief - not constantly, consistently - and some of that grief opened wounds I’m not even sure I had. Thankfully, God is slowly turning those wounds - some deep - into scars that have or are healing. I hope that’s evident in my life.
You’re so spot on and eloquent with the way you phrase the analogies about grief; the fresh snow and the crashing wave that reveal the quiet and dormant substance and truth of life sitting at the center of the noise we are usually distracted by. Somehow, those are the moments of quiet clarify that almost make me miss sitting in grief - because it was at the center of it that life suddenly became so simple, meaningful and mystical. It was there that the nearness of God was most profound to me, and as days and years tick on, I try to always return mentally and emotionally to that space to remember how to center myself and return to the heart of God.
Last night was my first night of starting a new widows group at my church. I’m glad I read this after the meeting, giving me confirmation on many of the points we discussed on grief. Grief forever changes us. And, hmm, I think we can know and not know at the same time when we look at someone. You see their journey and brokenness and you also see the light shining through all those cracks.
This is so insightful ... this knowing and not knowing.
Beautiful, Sara. Thank you so much. Such wisdom in your words.
Thank you, as tears of grief flow. My husband died about a month ago after a long cancer journey. Often there are no words to grief. It just comes and goes. I liked the metaphor of the crashing wave.
Oh Teresa. My heart aches for you. What profound loss. Stopping to pray for you right now.
"Grief can feel like stagnancy to the heart ever-oriented toward upward growth." Stagnant. This is how I've felt, what I've been afraid of, and the new year for sure has looked like an opportunity to escape the stalled feeling. Connecting that feeling to Grief is an eye opening thought. I think this is helping me identify what's behind the pressure and anxiety I've been feeling about starting out this new year on good footing.